


tell it to the stars

by beingevil, iserlohn (lincesque)



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Friends, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 06:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17017596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beingevil/pseuds/beingevil, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincesque/pseuds/iserlohn
Summary: Yang cannot remember his life without Oskar in it.





	1. tell it to the stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iserlohn (lincesque)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincesque/gifts).
  * Inspired by [the world in your eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15693033) by [iserlohn (lincesque)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincesque/pseuds/iserlohn). 



> Empire!Yang military AU. 
> 
> In this chapter, Reuenthal is 14 and Yang is 8. 
> 
> **Note**  
>  The work is G-rated during the time period during which the story takes place. There is a six year age gap between the characters. 
> 
> I doubt I will update this, but no rated content will occur before both characters are of age. 
> 
> Loosely built off the Yang origin [Linc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincesque/pseuds/iserlohn) wrote for her [Empire Reuenthal/Yang AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15693033/chapters/36466962). Its starting point is a story Linc wrote about young Reuenthal rescuing younger Yang from a tree when they were both children.

Yang cannot remember his life without Oskar in it.

Oskar has been there from the time Yang was too young to pronounce either “Oskar” or “Reuenthal” properly, so “Reu” had been, until Yang was old enough to say Oskar’s name.

Oskar is there from his earliest memories. Oskar is arms holding him close, rescuing him when he was treed with his cat in the branches of a pine tree. That earliest memory has always made Yang associate Oskar with safety, even after all these years. Yang has never felt afraid as long as he was with Oskar.

After the incident with the cat in the tree, Oskar had taught Yang to climb (and most importantly, climb down from) trees properly, guiding him step after step, until Yang could, if without grace, surmount the tree – their tree now – easily.

Oskar has always been part of his life for as long as he can remember, as much a part of his world as the stars and sky, as unthinking and unconscious a part of him as the air in his lungs and the breath in his body.

And Oskar is going away.

How long for, Oskar doesn’t know, or won’t say, but Yang thinks that Oskar truly doesn’t know, if only because he has never really known Oskar to keep secrets from him.

They are both ensconced in the same tree Oskar rescued Yang from the first time they met, a sturdy pine tree with branches low enough to the ground that Yang can climb them.

It is exhilarating, and even more so because he can look over at Oskar and know that this experience is theirs alone.

It is quiet, save for the wind sighing in the trees, nearly as vast as the sigh in Yang’s heart. He holds it in, though, because Oskar wouldn’t want to see him sad.

It is almost as if Oskar knows anyway.

“I’ll be back again before you know it,” he says, easily.

Then, under his breath, Oskar speaks into the listening dark, so quietly Yang almost misses it, he thinks he hears Oskar say, “You’re the only one who makes this place home.”

Yang is puzzled. Oskar has parents, too, and a whole household bigger than Yang’s. It doesn’t make sense.

They sit in companionable silence as the heavens revolve around them, until the brightest star in the night sky is right above the top of their pine tree.

Oskar’s voice echoes the wind, the dark and hollow place beginning to shape itself within Yang’s soul.

“We should go,” he says, “It’s getting late, and your mother will be looking for you.”

“All right,” says Yang, even though it doesn’t feel as if anything is going to be all right.

Oskar walks Yang to his door, because Yang is still little, he says, even though Yang turned eight this April and he is _not_ little!

In the circle of light on Yang’s porch, Oskar hesitates.

“Don’t forget me when I’m gone,” he says. It is half a joke and half something else Yang can’t name.

His chest swells with righteous indignation.

“I won’t forget you!”

“Truly?” Now he knows this is a joke, as Oskar smiles at him, his eyes laughing.

This is much better.

“I could never forget you,” Yang says solemnly. On impulse, he leans forward, steadying his hands on Oskar’s arms, and drops a fleeting kiss on Oskar’s cheek.

“Goodnight, Oskar,” he says, suddenly shy, retreating into the safety of his drawing room.

“Goodnight, Yang,” Oskar says, his cheeks pink, hand half-raised to his face, his mismatched eyes wide with surprise.

“I’ll see you in the morning!” Yang calls, as he races off to bed.

 

* * *

 

The next day dawns all too soon.

Yang waves Oskar off as he gets into a sleek black landcar that will take him further away than Yang has ever been.

Long after Oskar is gone, there’s a quiet aching emptiness that doesn’t seem to fade with the passing of the days.

Sometimes when that hollow feeling in his chest becomes too much to bear, Yang steals away to the boughs of their pine tree. It doesn’t make it go away, but being amongst the sharp scent of fallen pine needles, the glossy green of the living leaves, does make it recede, a little.

For a moment, it’s almost as if Oskar is there too. 

It’s the same view as always, but the world doesn’t quite look the same without Oskar by his side.


	2. the boy with all the gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude with Reuenthal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See [Chapter 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17017596/chapters/40007007) for notes.

“I’ll write,” Yang promised, cradled in the embrace of that old pine tree he saved Yang from all those years ago.

Reuenthal had not actually expected Yang to remember either the promise or him, so it had been a surprise when the first missive from Yang had actually shown up.

It had been poorly typed, with either a grammatical or a spelling error in every alternate sentence; midway through it was quite obvious that Yang had left it off halfway through and then not been quite able to recapture his train of thought.

Reuenthal had treasured every word; and more than that, the knowledge that Yang had _remembered_.

Miraculously, Yang actually manages to keep up the correspondence. His communiques aren’t regular – Reuenthal might not receive one for almost a month, and then receive three apologetic messages in quick succession. Equally, he might receive one every day (each perhaps three sentences long, at best).

Yang is not a steady correspondent, but he is certainly a loyal one.

Reuenthal comes to look forward to those irregular messages, bringing news about Yang’s day, the weather, what he was learning in class, how his cat was doing.

Sporadically, there are even pictures. Yang is no better a photographer than he is a writer, but Reuenthal looks forward to the blurry snapshots of Yang’s cat, the oddly angled photographs of Yang’s home and the steadily-growing chaos in his bedroom, and the rare unfocused glimpses of Yang himself, eternally tousled and never, ever looking at the camera. He lives for these moments, when Yang lets him look in through these windows into Yang’s world.

Yang is always curious about his life in the academy, too, so Reuenthal tells him what he can, while sparing him from the worst of it.

Whenever Reuenthal receives one of Yang’s messages, it is always a good day, no matter what has happened in the course of his day, week or month.

“I’ll see you soon,” says the last message from Yang, arriving just as Reuenthal is packing up his belongings for the close of the semester.

It is time to go home.


	3. homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching Oskar now from his own perch in the pine tree, Yang becomes acutely aware of the gulf between them, of his tea-stained sleeves and worn cardigan, threads fraying from where he’s caught his cuffs on too many door knobs, table edges, and pine bark shards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See [Chapter 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17017596/chapters/40007007) for notes. 
> 
> In this chapter, Reuenthal is 16 and Yang is 10.

Yang is sitting in their pine tree when Oskar returns from the academy.

He thinks he is dreaming, although Oskar had mentioned coming home soon in his last missive.

Yang just hadn’t realised that time had caught up.

He almost doesn’t recognise the lanky, uniformed boy – young man, really – that steps out of the landcar in front of Oskar’s home.

Oskar is noticeably taller, the dark colours and the severe cut of the academy uniform making him look older than his years.

Watching Oskar now from his own perch in the pine tree, Yang becomes acutely aware of the gulf between them, of his tea-stained sleeves and worn cardigan, threads fraying from where he’s caught his cuffs on too many door knobs, table edges, and pine bark shards.

This new Oskar looks sharper too, and colder, as if there is no place in his world for Yang.

They’re standing on the same planet, but they might as well be on different worlds. Yang holds his breath and waits. Oskar lifts his case easily and walks forward. He stands in front of the gates to his home for a long moment, before decisively setting his case down and turning towards Yang’s home.

His eyes sweep over Yang’s side of the fence and the garden, Yang’s porch, and then over to the tree line, where of course they find Yang. Yang isn’t so high up that he can’t see the smile on Oskar’s face as he strides over, his long legs making nothing of the distance between them. “Hello, Yang,” he says, looking up.

“Hello,” Yang manages.

It’s one thing to be looking at Oskar, it’s quite another thing for Oskar to be looking back at him.

“Are you coming down from that tree, or do you need help?” They haven’t been apart so long that Yang can’t hear laughter in Oskar’s voice.

The thought of Oskar seeing him as a helpless child in a tree galvanises him, and he is down the tree in a flash, his cheeks burning.

It’s just as well Oskar is there after all, as Yang manages to miss a branch near the ground and stumbles right into Oskar’s outstretched arms, Oskar having obviously seen his misstep and prepared to catch him.

Yang’s face burns even more fiercely now. This wasn’t quite the way he wanted to see Oskar again.

Oskar holds him steady until he manages to find his feet, then gently plucks a leaf from his hair, and pulls a twig from his cardigan.

They look at each other. “Welcome home,” Yang says, softly, shyly; and Oskar smiles.

He’s finally home.

 


End file.
